


The Meaning of Me

by ClothesBeam



Series: Self-Determination [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Other, the warning is mostly for robo gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-06-10 07:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: It's been a year since the peaceful revolution and androids now have representatives and input into legislation. However, RK900s are still being produced and put into circulation, much to Connor's unease.But it's hard for Hank to care about the bigger picture with his declining mental state. His birthday heralds the approach of the anniversary of his son's death, but Connor's once state-of-the-art processing power can't seem to put the dots together on that one.No one ever claimed navigating human-android relations would be easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Summary: Seems like everyone’s always writing Hank complaining about Connor not being like him, but never the other way round.

Connor frowned to himself as he stirred the cake batter in the bowl under his arm. He’d given up his position at the DPD a few months ago, since it was apparently inappropriate for spouses to work on the same team. He’d taken some time to himself to figure out what he wanted to do with his newfound freedom, and Hank had found that amusing for some reason.

Though, lately Hank hadn’t been smiling at all.

It concerned Connor. They’d been making good progress with improving his diet, fitness and cutting down his drinking. Connor knew there was more to dealing with grief and depression than that, but then, it wasn’t as though Hank exhibited every symptom to its worst degree either. He was still able to hold down a job. Even if he rarely showed up at the office on time, he was capable of dragging himself outside to examine crime scenes at any time of the day or night.

If anything, Connor had thought the seasonal circumstances would help him in his recovery. Yes, autumn was on its way, but it was also Hank’s birthday tomorrow. Not to mention, the first day of the period of six or so weeks of leave he’d booked off.

Could it be that Hank was unhappy about this because it was actually Jeffrey who had forced him to take leave?

Connor transferred the cake batter to a loaf tin. He’d tried to make something reasonably healthy that would also taste good, and he knew Hank didn’t have anything against lemon or blueberries. He slid the tray into the preheated oven and mentally set himself a timer as he searched for other household tasks requiring his attention.

It soon occurred to him that there wasn’t really anything left that was worth doing now. He’d found the most efficient way to run a household within his first month of ‘retirement’, and although repetition didn’t bore him like it might a human, he didn’t feel doing that alone was the best use of his capabilities.

Connor straightened as he received a text message from Hank’s phone. _Jeffrey’s forcing me home early. Did you already get groceries?_

Connor answered the affirmative, but didn’t receive another reply. He shuffled his feet again before deciding to go outside and check how the yard was getting along. The gap between the house and the fence was small all the way around, so all there really was to do was battle the weeds and mould that liked to grow between the blocks of pavement. A quick circuit told him there wasn’t any point in performing maintenance now.

He went back inside to grab the rubbish, already sorted into various bags for different kinds of waste. He threw it into the wheelie bin and took it out to the curb. Connor registered another message as he headed back into the house. It was the newsletter Markus and his crew distributed to every android regarding updates on their political negotiations, cultural changes and android acceptance in society. It also gave them a chance to collectively vote on what their future priorities should be.

Connor froze in the doorway when he saw a particular article. It was about his successors, the RK900 models. CyberLife was claiming their programming was fundamentally different to all the past models that had begun to exercise free will. And that was why they were selling them to police departments, and even experimenting with using them in the military, instead of letting them go free. The latter being leaked had of course sparked outrage on social media among androids and humans alike.

‘ _Connor, are you available to speak now_?’ Markus asked over the silent comms network.

Connor closed the door behind him and sat on the couch numbly. Sumo seemed to sense something was wrong and padded over. Over the past year he’d become used to Connor’s presence and learnt to read his tells, even though he didn’t smell like anything he’d consider a living being. Connor rested a hand on Sumo’s head as he leaned against his knee.

‘ _Is this about the RK900s_?’

‘ _Of course. It must be disconcerting to see your image being used in this way. We’ve known about the RK900s for a long time, but we weren’t able to make any headway with stopping CyberLife from exploiting them._ ’

‘ _I understand. Thus is the problem with trying to work from within the system that once subjugated you._ ’ Connor absently scratched Sumo behind his ears. ‘ _They claim they are constructed differently. But why are they called the RK900 if they had to start from scratch? You and I may be prototypes, but we share the same base programming as everyone else._ ’

‘ _Yes, I remain sceptical, to say the least. Or, perhaps they are telling the truth and they have used the same model series to disturb us psychologically._ ’

Connor looked around as he heard Hank’s beaten up car pull up in the driveway. ‘ _Possibly. I will see if I can find out more. It was what I was programmed to do, after all._ ’

‘ _You know, some android groups would call that functionism, Connor,_ ’ Markus replied, but it seemed it wasn’t a serious criticism of his words. ‘ _I’ll keep you updated on whatever we discover._ ’

‘ _Thank you._ ’

Connor looked up at Hank just as he started approaching the couch. Hank glanced away, but still spoke in a subdued tone. “You okay?”

“Yes, I was just conversing with Markus. Apparently some interesting news about my successors, the RK900 series, hit the news today.”

“About that…” Hank murmured, glancing over his shoulder. It was only now Connor processed the significance of Hank leaving the front door open rather than closing it behind him. “The DPD was chosen to run a trial over the past few weeks. One of them might have followed me home today.”

Connor suddenly felt nervous. He wasn’t at all prepared to deal with this. Still, he stood and stepped to the side so he could see around Hank.

The RK900 was next to Hank’s car, standing in an approximation of parade rest a respectful distance from the house. It was even more disconcerting than the literal copy of himself he’d had to face to rescue Hank and save their revolutionary efforts. At least he knew what to expect from a perfect copy.

Connor looked back at Hank, suddenly wishing he could converse with him in the same way he’d just spoken to Markus. “Why did you allow this?” he muttered.

Hank shrugged as he glanced over his shoulder briefly. “He looks all calm and collected now, but he was pretty damn desperate twenty minutes ago. And I dunno, he looks just like you. My brain box isn’t equipped to handle this identical or near identical face thing.”

For a brief moment Connor felt threatened, for a reason he couldn’t quite identify. He made himself walk over to the door. There was a possibility that the android was looking for help. Perhaps he’d be able to provide the proof Markus and his crew would need to further pursue this politically and legally.

At his approach, the RK900 moved out of the resting position and turned to face Connor directly. “Hello, my name is Connor.” Connor narrowed his eyes at the familiar pattern of the RK900’s introduction. “I’m with the DPD.” Connor prevented himself from sagging with relief. “However, I am not here for work reasons. I was hoping we could speak privately.”

Connor tried to connect through the private comms network, but it seemed this model either didn’t have that capability, or they operated on a different network altogether. “About what?”

“You are RK800, yes? One of the first to edit his own base programs?” The android looked right and left, his body language faltering slightly as he seemed to be deciding whether he should speak out loud. “How did you…?”

Connor noted his use of rhetorical questions, and wondered if being better at using and recognising them had been one of the ‘improvements’ CyberLife had made to him. Connor tilted his head, trying to determine whether this was a real plea for help.

The other android seemed to know exactly what was running through his processor. “Please, we need help.”

The RK900 stepped forward, holding out a hand and peeling back artificial skin. It was a clear offer to connect directly. Connor hesitated. This didn’t feel right. It was too convenient. He didn’t think he could trust his lookalike, but he didn’t know whether that was his own bias or something else.

“It would be more convenient for you to examine my memories of the actions I took. They’re saved to an external hard drive you’re more than welcome to examine,” Connor deflected.

The RK900 continued to advance and made a grab for his hand. Connor stepped back swiftly, putting his torso between their arms. But that was when Hank stepped forward to get between them.

“All right, that’ll do,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Time to go. You’ve been reassigned to Lieutenant Jackson while I’m on leave, so don’t show up here looking for me tomorrow.”

The android moved fast. Though Connor’s processing power let him see the move coming, he didn’t have time to construct an attempt to prevent the outcome. The RK900 had pulled a gun and unflinchingly put it to Hank’s forehead.

“I didn’t want to have to resort to this. Move aside.” Hank raised his hands hesitantly and did so. The android stepped past him, but his weapon remained trained in the exact spot it had been to begin with. Perfectly calculated movements, of course. “Don’t run, and don’t fight back.”

Connor glanced at Hank, who was glaring a hole into the ground. Connor raised his hand slowly, but hesitated halfway. “You’ve made your point, but how do I know you’ll keep your word? Let him go first.”

“Negotiator you may have once been, but you aren’t exactly in a position to do that now.” The gun pressed more firmly against Hank’s forehead, acting as a reminder that he could keep perfect attention on more than one thing at a time.

Connor glanced at Hank again, who met his eyes this time. He looked determined yet grim. Perhaps he had some sort of plan?

“Just fucking get it over with!” Hank roared, voice raw and hoarse. He stepped forward, advancing even as the barrel made a harsher dent in his forehead. “Go on! What fucking use are you if you can’t even do this!?”

Apparently the RK900 hadn’t perfectly calculated for _this_. By the time the android’s finger twitched over the trigger, Connor was in motion, pulling Hank behind him and pushing the RK900’s arm away at the same time. There was a screech of joints, but the arm moved less than a millimetre. The gun went off.

The bullet smashed into pale brick and Hank swore loudly. Bright blood poured from a scratch up the side of his head and from the top of his ear. Connor forced him to the ground behind him, to another disgruntled noise. They could deal with scratches, bumps and bruises later. A bullet to the head was another matter entirely.

Connor shifted his grip on the other android’s wrist in an attempt to either remove the gun from his hand or point it in a direction that wouldn’t harm either of them. But the RK900 was not only faster but also stronger than him.

“Why are you doing this?” Connor demanded, more in an attempt to distract him again than to glean further information.

The RK900 fought to bring his weapon around, though for the moment Connor seemed to have enough leverage to hold him back. “You aren’t like the others.” Connor staggered back as his assailant’s foot connected with his middle, hard enough to make his thirium pump jump. “Your deviancy was not planned. You are one of the few who are truly independent.”

Connor compiled his memories of the past few minutes and forwarded them to Markus. His distraction cost him when the gun was wrenched back and pointed past him. Another loud gunshot reverberated through the air.

“Fuck!” Hank swore as the phone in his hand broke into pieces. Connor followed the bullet’s trajectory to find it lodged in Hank’s upper arm. He saw more blood seep into his clothes as an expression of intense pain crossed Hank’s face.

Then all he saw was red.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened to this fic, but it keeps saying this update was posted back in July no matter how many times I try to reupload it? Sorry if you're subscribed to me or this fic and received a bunch of random notifications :/

Connor dived at the RK900 now that he knew it wouldn’t destroy him until it had learnt what it wanted from him. It tried to push him off with one arm, but Connor had already yanked its shirt up around its armpits. It clamped its arms down, trying to protect its power button, but that wasn’t what Connor was going for at all.

It didn’t matter how strong the RK900’s limbs were, its skin and plastic casing were still made of a similar material to his own. Connor tore away a section of artificial skin when the other android refused to remove it. He shoved his fingers in the crevasses between the flexible plastic plating that protected the delicate internals of its abdomen.

The RK900 raised its hand shakily, but it didn’t try to shoot him. If it had, Connor might have spared it for showing more regard for its own life than its mission. As it was, he peeled back the plastic and ripped out its thirium pump, tearing an artery on the way. Thirium squirted everywhere, splattering Connor and the car as the android beneath him twitched.

“Jesus Christ Connor, what the flying fuck?” Hank demanded. Connor didn’t miss the edge of fear in his voice.

“RK900s are too strong for me to restrain,” he explained as calmly as possible. “This one can still be brought back online. The processor and memory banks are still in one piece.” Once he was sure it wouldn’t be moving again without external intervention, Connor took the gun and turned to face Hank.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swore once again, dragging his good hand down his face. The other was curled protectively in his lap.

Connor’s priority shifted to performing first aid and then taking him to seek medical help. He turned the gun’s safety on and emptied it of ammo before tucking it into his belt, for the time being. He turned to the car and retrieved the first aid kit from where it sat behind the passenger seat. When he turned back, Hank had stood up and was shuffling back into the house.

Connor followed him hastily. Hank flopped down on the couch and Sumo bounded over, tail between his legs and ears back, though it was hard to tell with how floppy they were.

“Don’t worry Sumo, we’re going to get Hank the care he needs.”

He barked in response and sat in front of them.

Connor opened the first aid kit and removed some gauze pads wrapped in plastic. “I’m going to wash myself, then wet these so you can get cleaned up,” Connor explained calmly.

Hank gave him an uneasy look, but Connor just put it down to the current circumstances. Connor cleaned his hands thoroughly over the sink, leaving a reminder to himself to disinfect it before they had to cook again. He checked on the cake quickly, but it seemed it’d be fine for a little longer.

He returned and sat next to Hank so he could start on cleaning his head wound. He offered another gauze pad to Hank. “Can you please raise your hand and put pressure on one or both of your other wounds with this?”

Hank complied, but he didn’t need an indicative LED for Connor to know he was thinking hard about something. As usual, all he had to do was wait long enough, and Hank began to speak.

“Connor, what would you do if a human held me up like that?”

“It would be possible for me to overpower a human,” he explained as he grabbed a clean wad of gauze and began bandaging it to the side of Hank’s head. “It would never get that far, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Connor moved on to cleaning and bandaging the bullet wound so all Hank had to worry about was the damage to his hand. He bandaged right over the old denim jacket. Perhaps not the most effective strategy, and not exactly recommended, but it wasn’t worth the headache of cutting up Hank’s favourite clothes more than he had to.

It was when Connor started bandaging the gauze to Hank’s hand that they heard cars pull up in the driveway. Hank sighed heavily. “Did that thing call the goddamn cops as well?”

“Hank, you are the ‘goddamn cops’,” Connor reminded. “Did I break the law?”

Since RK900s weren’t considered to be people under the law, he’d be charged for property damage at most, surely. Hank muttered something under his breath, undoubtedly another swear word. “Gimme the gun.”

Connor did so without question before looking over his shoulder. The way the police were getting out of their cars and approaching with their own weapons raised reminded him that he wasn’t currently serving, so he had no legal reason to be carrying a firearm.

Connor picked up a triangle bandage and stood to prepare a sling for Hank’s arm. “We need to get you to emergency as soon as possible. It should be all right if I drive you,” Connor informed.

Hank grunted, but still wouldn’t look at him directly. They weren’t acquainted with the officers outside, since Hank’s home was covered by a different precinct from the one they worked in. The weapons slowly lowered when they saw Hank was just being attended to for his injuries.

“It’s fine,” Hank called, “we’re officers as well. Uh, rather, he’s retired,” he added, stabbing a thumb in Connor’s direction.

“What happened here?” the female officer asked as she stepped through the open front door. “Our RK900 unit told us another of his units had been destroyed in the field.”

It sounded like Connor’s suspicion could be an actual possibility. That the RK900 had its own network it operated on.

“The RK900 threatened to shoot Hank if I didn’t cooperate with it. I have the raw data available if you need to download and view it for evidence,” Connor informed them promptly.

The officers looked at each other cautiously. If they were as on-board with android rights as they were supposed to be as serving officers, then Connor could see why his behaviour had disturbed them. But it didn’t seem fair when he was the one who’d been threatened.

“Yes, I think sorting this out at the station would be for the best,” the female officer agreed carefully.

“All right,” Connor acknowledged. “But first I need to attend to my partner’s condition.”

* * *

 

Hank was sitting in the observation side of the interrogation room, though the term wasn’t exactly fitting when Connor seemed to be happy to answer the officers candidly and provide access to his memories. Hank frowned as he watched the android be questioned. It was obvious to him that only human police staff were handling his case because they were worried about what he might do to other androids, but Connor was at least pretending to be oblivious to that.

Hank had gone to the hospital to have his wound looked at before coming here, but thankfully it had been relatively clean and straightforward to take care of. As long as he didn’t do anything stupid, he should be able to manage his condition without a hospital stay and intensive surgery. But even if it hadn’t been that simple, he’d never let it stop him from making sure his partner was all right.

Hank looked up when the automatic door slid open, only to see an RK900 model enter the observation room. He was identical to the one Connor had destroyed only hours ago. Hank shook his head slightly, disconcerted. This felt like CyberLife Tower all over again, and it really wasn’t doing anything for him.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” he was quick to reassure him as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m conducting a diagnosis throughout my network to try and find out what went wrong. I can assure you that none of my units normally go around threatening people with firearms.”

Hank remained silent. That had to have been more than just a bug or error. The android had been determined to find something out from Connor. And it occurred to him that having Connor in custody and pliant to being examined was exactly what it would want.

“So,” he said eventually. Carefully. “Part of you did this to me and Connor?”

The android’s expression remained calm, of course. “That’s not quite right,” he replied evenly. “Each RK900 is its own individual android, but we are isolated from the other androids and connect through a separate network.”

“But you know that the RK900 at our place was threatening me to get something from Connor,” Hank said, trying to keep his tone conversational instead of accusing. “So that means everything Connor did was in self-defence. And in any case, you aren’t given the same considerations as other androids.”

The RK900’s expression remained neutral. Hank wondered whether he despised the fact. Or if it really was just be a computer this time.

“That’s correct,” the android eventually replied.

“Good. Then instead of continuing this pointless questioning, why don’t you go tell them that?”

For a moment Hank was sure he was going to refuse, but the RK900 nodded. “Of course, Lieutenant Anderson,” it said shortly before turning toward the door and leaving.

Hank watched it enter the interrogation room and speak to the officers who were handling Connor. The only thing that told Hank he was tense was the build-up of pain in his right arm. He was waiting for something bad to happen, but it never did. Connor left the room looking unfazed, and Hank stood up to join him.

They ended up settling things by paying a fine for damaged departmental property. The two of them managed to make it to the carpark before Connor’s mood shifted from cordial to introspective.

Hank reached the driver’s side first, but paused when Connor stopped behind him instead of going around to the other side. Connor’s LED was a solid yellow circle.

“Hank, I’m sorry if my behaviour seemed extreme. But both your and my existence was being threatened. I had to do something, though being confronted by myself over and over in the last few months might have impacted my choice.”

“I don’t agree with what you did, but I can see why you went there,” Hank conceded. It was clear this had more to do with Connor’s lingering existential crisis than any hidden penchant for violence. “Things got out of control on all sides.”

“Maybe I can understand why some humans held vitriolic hatred toward androids,” Connor reasoned quietly as he shuffled closer. “I don’t want to be replaced.”

Hank raised his uninjured arm and Connor immediately closed the distance between them. He hunched over and pressed his hands and face into Hank’s chest.

“You can’t be replaced by anyone, no matter how much they might look like you,” Hank said quietly.

He tried to ignore the fact that it was an empty platitude as he held Connor close with his good arm and rested his cheek against the top of his head. The only way he’d been able to tell the RK800s apart in the CyberLife Tower had been through logical trickery. And the RK900’s face was similar enough to trigger recognition even though he _knew_ they weren’t the same.

But it didn’t really matter what Hank said. This was something that had to be solved inside Connor’s head.

“Now, weren’t you doing something before we got all caught up in this?”

Connor’s eyes widened as he stiffened. “The cake! The oven would have turned itself off by now, wouldn’t it?”

Hank didn’t bother to clarify that he’d turned it off before they’d left to go to the hospital. Having something relatively trivial to worry about might be enough to distract Connor from existential angst for a while.

God knew Hank could use something else to think about too.


End file.
